Pitfalls of Space Vodka
by VelociraptorDoctor
Summary: Shepard parties to forget. Femshep and Garrus.


Shepard really should have known better than to give in that last round of glowing shots.

Her first warning sign should have been that the bright green neon shots were courtesy of Vega, but if he was buying she was drinking and maybe she could fall asleep tonight.

Her second warning sign should have been that when drops of the glowing liquor hit the bar surface it resulted in a small smoke cloud and a pervasive burning smell.

And her third warning sign didn't goddamn matter because she caught Garrus' eye when each of them had two shots to go and there was no way she was letting him out-drink her.

Unfortunately that led to her current situation- tangled up with said Turian on one of the lounge couches just inside Purgatory where people had done god-knows-what already, just like the couples she kind of laughed at every time she went for a drink.

She couldn't kiss him properly, either, just kind of press herself against his mouth-plates, but she was applying herself furiously to the job and letting her hands do whatever the fuck they wanted and by the noises he was making, Garrus didn't seem to mind.

Giggling behind her caught her attention, and Shepard shot a furious look over her shoulder (mitigated by the glazed look in her eyes) and attempted to stand up.

Attempted.

Shepard looked up at Garrus from the floor.

"You're not supposed to be up there," she whispered conspiratorially.

His eyes crinkled down at her in a Turian smile.

"Normandy," he said.

Or at least, he started the word and Shepard broke in with an exuberant "Yes!" before he could finish, and tried to stand up again, making it to a fully upright position thanks only to Garrus' arm that wound around her when she would have fallen over. He was a bit unsteady on his feet, too, and they swayed one way and the other before discovering their center of balance.

"Can we make it to the Normandy," murmured Garrus, putting his forehead to hers and taking unsteady breaths.

"_We can make it to the Normandy,_" came Shepard's furious twelve-shots-deep reply.

Somehow, the two of them managed to start stumbling towards the door. Each step was a blurry eternity and Shepard stopped to attempt to hit on Avina but they finally made it to the lift.

"_Spectre status recognized," _intoned the elevator.

"DOUCHEBAG status recognized, you fucking-"

"_Considering your highly intoxicated state, it is assumed that you wish to be transported to the Normandy's Docking Bay."_

All was silent in the elevator.

"Never talked back to me before," whispered Shepard.

"_I only do so when my guests are highly intoxicated,"_ said the elevator. "_No one will believe you."_

"Got us there," said Garrus.

"_Docking bay. Have a good night, Commander Shepard."_

They stumbled out of the lift and Shepard wasn't entirely sure how they made it to the Normandy besides telling flashes of memories of being carried, which she ignored because she was _Commander fucking Shepard _and she did _not need to be carried._

It would be easier to stay true to this line of reasoning if she didn't find herself being put down by Garrus right outside her quarters. He was trying to get through the door and she was too far gone, tearing off his armor bit by bit and leaving it in the hallway before he growled at her and dragged her inside.

He dropped her on the bed and Shepard took advantage of him standing (wobbling) over her to strip off his last layer of clothing. He was… bumpy.

"I like your… chest ridges?" Shepard said, and put her hands back on him and there was no need for words until all of their clothing was thrown violently away from them, leaving them both panting, desperate, and staring at each other's genitals in complete confusion.

"What the everliving fuck is THAT?" shrieked Shepard, drunk enough to break out into peals of laughter.

"I should ask you the same question," said Garrus. He was looking down at her like she had sprouted several extra limbs spontaneously, shock setting in and overriding any offense at Shepard's reaction. "Turian females usually have something a bit, uhm…" he paused, looking for the least offensive term, "different."

"Uh-huh," said Shepard weakly. "Okay. Okay. Wait. Wait. Wait…" She put up her hands. "Wait."

"Waiting," he said.

"Did either of us actually follow Mordin's advice and do some research? Watch some vids?"

"…"

"To make sure our species are not completely sexually incompatible?"

"…"

"FUCK!" wailed Shepard.

AND THE NEXT DAY EVERYTHING WAS AWKWARD ON THE NORMANDY AND IT WAS AWFUL FOR EVERYBODY.

THE END.


End file.
